


Lost, Trying To Get Found

by lordofthedankmemes



Series: we'll learn how to be incomplete [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Denial of Feelings, F/M, Kissing, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Polyamory, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 19:17:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9840344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordofthedankmemes/pseuds/lordofthedankmemes
Summary: Alexander Hamilton knows that, beyond the Army and King's College, he is and has nothing. One misstep will mean there is no future for him. He will deny himself any pleasure necessary in order to be certain he will rise up. (Well, he does try.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work for Hamilton and Turn, my first bit of fanfiction in several years, actually. There's no need to be gentle about it - I want to improve! There are so many wonderful authors in both these fandoms, so I know I have a lot to live up to. If you are so inclined, please be honest. I'm eager to hear whatever you have to say.
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to read!

As Washington’s de facto chief of staff, Alexander is not in the habit of practicing discretion as it relates to when and where he opens doors for himself. He knocks when he is to see the General or if it is during hours when others might be dressing, of course, but opening the door to his own quarters in the middle of the day when he thinks he’s the only one in camp headquarters? Why would he knock?

Thus, he happens upon Major Tallmadge and John Laurens, in the room Alexander shares with John, and they are kissing. Quite passionately.

It is such a shock to his mind that Alexander very promptly drops the stack of papers he was carrying around which scatter across the floor. The noise disrupts the lovers – and he aches to think the word – and they pull apart in alarm. Though any interloper would be hard pressed to decide who among them was the most alarmed.

“No, no,” he scrambles to say, kneeling down to pick the papers up. “You needn’t worry. I won’t breathe a word to anyone. A man should be free to find his comforts where he will. I am hardly the judgmental type when it comes to intimate intercourse.” 

John crosses the room to try and help him, to make sense of the order of the papers once more, to offer a friendly touch to his shoulder, but Alexander takes them from him and beats a hasty retreat. There is so much work to be done. Yes, he is always busy, there is always some correspondence that requires his attention, he has no time at all to concern himself with what his friends do.

There is so much work to be done.

True to his word, Alexander says nothing of what he witnessed to anyone. He does not return to his bed that night, either. John will have questions, ones that deserve answers, but he is not keen to be faced with his dearest friend’s inquiries. One night of lost sleep will not affect him anyway; he is strong.

Yet he is distracted.

It is just that he had assumed things that are now quite obviously not true about his relationship with John. He had thought, well, they had been so close from the very beginning of their friendship. He had thought he knew John better than almost anyone, but John had not fit to tell him of this? John should know that Alexander would never betray him. And if John had a lover, he should like to know that. If John was in love, he should like to know that as well.

It is not jealousy or envy. It is only hurt feelings. He will get over it.

At dinner with the General and his other aides, Alexander tries to make it natural when he abandons his usual spot next to John and instead fits himself beside Lafayette. The Frenchman raises an eyebrow and glances away but allows the move. 

Dinner ends, and Washington speaks. “Hamilton, stay a moment, will you?”

He endures the good-natured ribbing as the other men filter out of the dining room to attend to last minute tasks or to retire to bed. Washington gestures for Alexander to follow him to the comfortable chairs in front of the fire. 

“You’re uncharacteristically silent, son,” he says when they’re settled.

Alexander clenches his jaw. “I meant no offense, sir.”

“Why are you upset?”

“I’m not.”

Washington levels an unimpressed look in his direction. “Why do I feel as though we’ve had this conversation before?”

Alexander huffs and shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “There was a matter that came to my attention today, and I promised discretion.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.” His heart sank into his stomach as he thought of how John and Ben had looked together, the sweet way their mouths met, their steady hands on each other’s bodies. It is only hurt feelings, he reminds himself viciously, that he was not told. If his friends are happy, then he wants the opportunity to be joyful for them. Only hurt feelings. “It is nothing dire. A – miscommunication between friends. I cannot divulge its nature, not even to you, sir. It is nothing to be concerned about.” 

“Really?”

He sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly, his eyes drifting to the fire. “Yes. I assure you I will be myself once again in a few days.”

“If you’re certain of that, then I suppose you are dismissed. But Alexander,” the General says, looking at Alexander as he rises. “I have long since relied on you, my boy. Should you need advice, I would be happy to give it.”

Something warms under Alexander’s skin, and he is reminded once more of his untoward admiration for Washington. He reminds himself, as he always does, that it is normal. It must be normal. Here is the leader of the Continental Army, the man who will free them all. He is not the only one to feel such things towards him. He looks down and nods. “Yes, sir. I will see you in the morning.”

“Good night, son.”

He masters himself and leaves. The Marquis de Lafayette lingers in the hallway, far enough away from the door to not have eavesdropped. 

“My dear Alexander,” Lafayette murmurs. “Are you in trouble?”

“Without a doubt. As is my preference.”

Lafayette laughs and steps closer, just an inch or two too close. Alexander allows it. There is an uncommon amount of beautiful men in the army, and it is no hardship to be close to the Marquis. Alexander has no firm social standing in America; he is more than aware of this. He cannot risk losing his only way to advance in this society. But Lafayette is a fine flirt, and French, too, and likely thinks nothing of their conversations.

“I wonder,” Lafayette muses with a curious tilt to his smile, “if, at some point, I might learn of some of your other preferences.”

Alexander blinks, and his smile grows uncertain. “I-I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

Lafayette’s smile is dazzling in the low light as he leans down to press a kiss to Alexander’s mouth. He sucks in a shocked breath, and his entire body locks up. He wants, he thinks he wants, to pull away and retreat. This is hardly – he cannot have this, not in a drafty hallway where anyone might see, where the General himself could emerge from his office! But despite his flirtations with women, he has been so long without affection.

He hears something from the General’s office, perhaps the man pacing but perhaps his commander coming to the door. His heart stops in his chest, and he goes cold. He pulls away and cannot meet Lafayette’s eyes.

“Excuse me,” he mutters and very nearly runs away, eyes on the floor. Lafayette calls his name, but he does not turn around.

Lafayette may have the freedom of a Frenchman far away from anyone whose opinion truly matters to his position in life, but Alexander is a bastard from Nevis. There is nothing for him outside of this army. 

Lafayette’s kiss burns on his lips as Alexander returns to his desk. He works until his candlelight flutters into nothing. He finds his way to his bed by touch. For once, John’s steady breathing does not soothe him. 

~

The water of the river nearest camp was warmest in the middle of the afternoon, despite the cooling weather as they approach winter, and Alexander is not the only man who escapes their duties for a few minutes to bathe and change clothes. He and Tilghman find a bend of the river to themselves and amuse each other with jokes and other light-hearted talk to take their minds off of their work. 

“You and Laurens, what has happened there?”

Alexander busies himself with washing his hair. “A misunderstanding. Or rather, we argued and I was unkind. I need to apologize soon.”

“Huh. That’s not how John tells it.”

His patience short, he snaps, “If you have nothing better to do than pry into an argument that doesn’t include you, you’d be better off returning to headquarters.”

Tench holds his hands up in surrender. “Very well.”

Alexander waits until Tilghman has dressed again and then sighs. Another apology he will have to make eventually. He growls, stressed and exhausted. What a week this has been. The British just out of their reach, supplies running short, nights cold – there is no respite of problems to be faced. And Congress still cannot tax the states. They are all waiting on the good humor of Virginia and South Carolina. And he doesn’t even have John or Benjamin to vent his frustrations to. This must be his own doing, somehow. 

He reaches for the harsh soap to attack his hair once again, turning around. He does not see John approaching.

“Alex, I would have a moment of your time, if I still deserve it.”

Spine tense, Alexander washes the suds away and slowly faces his friend. He can meet John’s eyes, but only just. “Of course.”

“You’ve avoided me.” And how beautiful he is in the afternoon light. John sheds his boots and sits on a rock to rest his feet under the cool water. “I hoped to explain what you saw, the other day.”

Alexander crosses his arms over his chest and shakes his head. “You needn’t explain. I understand. And I have kept my promise. No one knows.”

John laughs and looks down at the water, peeking up almost shyly through his lashes. “That’s not entirely true.”

“I haven’t told a soul, John, I swear.” Alexander approaches, as far as he can without tempting indecency, the water lapping at his lower belly. “Even if I were scandalized, I would not betray you.”

“That is not what I meant,” John hastens to assure him with that wide, lovely smile that he has always admired. 

(He was only hurt that John had not told him of how he passed time with Major Tallmadge. They are only hurt feelings.)

“What did you mean?” he asks, clearing his throat.

John’s cheeks grow darker with a blush, and Alexander cannot help but be delighted by that. “What?” he persists. “John, you must tell me now. I demand it!”

“It… it is not only Ben Tallmadge.”

Alexander is rendered rather speechless.

“It is the Marquis. We often… together. With… Alexander, you are my sweetest friend, but I beg your discretion. No one must know. The consequences…” John’s brows knit together, and Alexander would likely agree to anything just to see that tension, that fear, disappear from his face.

“Of course. I will take it to my grave.” He takes a step closer. He is the one to blush when John’s eyes dart down his body.

“Sometimes, the three of us, or two, or on our own, we… The General. It is out of no coercion, believe me. Our presence is always more than willing. And on occasion, Lady Washington. When she is not here, she writes letters... But that is, that is the state of it.” John’s eyes fall to his own knees. “I did not mean to keep it a secret from you.”

A feeling surges in his chest, and Alexander can deny it no longer – it is jealousy. It boils hard under his skin. He tries to imagine these couplings. Tears burn in his eyes as he stares at John. There is a sudden, sharp hatred, too. He cannot make sense of it. It claws at him. He thinks of these five, and despite all judgment, he thinks of what it would be to be the sixth, though that is stupid, the stupidest thought that has ever entered his head. On par with thinking his father would return and that his mother would not be dashed by that sickness they shared. 

“Ah,” is all he can say. Very seriously, he thinks he might cry, and to do so in front of his friend would unman him. He clumsily walks to shore and starts to dress. He reaches his breeches first and fights to pull them over his wet skin, but he manages it.

“Alexander!”

“I will never tell anyone, John, you have my vow.” He manages his shirt, too, and tries to make sense of his neckcloth.

John catches his hands between his own, drawing Alexander’s attention back to his face.

“That is not my worry,” John tells him, voice as soft as the fog that clings every morning to the grass. “I have never deserved your loyalty, but it has never failed me. May I tell you another secret?”

Alexander nods, and when he breathes in, the desire to weep grows more intense.

“I am not the only one who wishes for you to join us.”

Alexander laughs, shakes his head. “My vanity does not need to be stroked.”

“I am in earnest!” John’s fingers curl around his and draw their hands up to his chest. “The General will not say it, he does not wish to force you to say yes, and he fears that you would because you will depend on his patronage someday. I thought, perhaps, you would… I thought I had interpreted the fondness between us correctly. Lafayette was the boldest of us all, and yet.” John leans close until they share a breath. “Alex, please tell me my hopes have not been in vain.”

If that was a kiss he could take, he would steal it now. He would need only to tilt his head an inch and press close, and their lips would meet. His whole being aches for it. But he denies himself. How fortunate that he has had such ample practice in the act. He denies himself when the urge grows. 

“I cannot,” he whispers. “You know why I cannot.” It is too much to hope for. He denies himself for a third time. There will come a time when he must return to New York, and John will go to Charleston and his family, if the war is not what separates them. He will return to New York, John to South Carolina, the General will go to Virginia with his wife, and Lafayette will cross the ocean. Ben, too, has his own path to follow. He cannot allow himself a comfort that will only end with such heartache. 

“I will protect you!”

Alexander laughs from the joy that only John Laurens has ever made him feel. “I know.”

John draws him as close as he can, he takes his hands from Alexander’s to wrap his arms around his waist, as though willing that their souls would transcend their bodies to meet. “Let us love you. You will not regret it.”

“Take care, John Laurens,” Alexander says quietly, “I would not take this risk for any other.”

“I will guard your heart more carefully than my own.” John’s face is set with promise. “You will not regret this,” he swears. “Whether we venture anywhere near a bed or not. You will be loved so completely. I will make sure of it.”

Tears form in his eyes and fall down his cheeks. He is shamed by the emotion that wells up from such ancient, forgotten places, but John’s thumbs dash them away. John’s smile is kind, his eyes tender.

Alexander forgets his commitment to self-denial, and he lifts up to steal that kiss. His clothes stick to his skin, and John’s boots lay several feet away, and the air is starting to turn chill, but he thinks, just another moment. Just another kiss. The rest of the world can wait.


End file.
